


The Lovesickness of the Unassuming Fungi

by saltslip



Series: Growth [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Awkward First Times, Dating, First Love, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry Tolkien, M/M, Male Slash, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Canon, Relationship(s), Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslip/pseuds/saltslip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor thinks he may be allergic to Glorfindel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Presence of Logic

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like reading/watching the Lord of the Rings is always a downhill spiral. You can never just do the one -- you will inevitably launch yourself into the swirling tornado that is J.R.R. Tolkien. 
> 
> So with the new Hobbit movie about to come out, that is exactly what happened to me. And then I wanted to write so this happened. 
> 
> Erestor and Glorfindel's personalities are all entirely based on how the majority of the fandom seem to interpret them. And I'm totally cool with that. I think the Glorfindel I wrote is more annoyingly chipper though. 
> 
> And about Gildor. Even though, he wasn't featured all that much in the book, I imagined him to be a snarky little shit. I have no clue how or why this happened since he's pretty awesome (not to mention polite) and does all this shit in the span of one chapter while poking in and out later to help the other characters out with important info. But FUCK, I know there has to be some elves capable of flinging caustic insults of endearment at one another and dammit, for me, it's Gildor. And I think the whole controversy about who he truly is was pretty interesting. I can't help but feel he did it on purpose like an asshole. So yeah, that's my reasoning.

_Imladris, Third Age 1939. Tuesday._

 

It was all so very odd, he thought. Very, very odd.

Erestor prided himself in impeccable hygiene. His dedication to cleanliness, and all its umbrella terms thereof, could be seen as an obsession. But he considered it a necessity, especially in a house that had seen the destruction of the Peredhal twins. With such wet weather in the Autumn, they were nothing but mud and grey eyes. At least, to him anyway. Elves very rarely ever got sick but Erestor _never_ did. 

Yet, here he was. Heart pounding, breath quickening, temperature rising — It was all too clear. He must have contracted something. Perhaps it had been the sudden change of the seasons. Or the fact that the valley had been subject to more rain this year. Whatever it was, he was sure that he was ill. But he wasn't even properly ill.

It seemed to come and go as it pleased, breaking upon him like a heated wave then suddenly subsiding with naught but a fading chill. It was unnatural. He had seen Men bedridden for days, sometimes weeks, with what they called 'the Flu' so he had assumed he would have coped the same way, albeit better. But this affliction, it seemed, had its own rules. 

Rules that, quite frankly, he had had enough of. 

His gaze fell upon the golden elf across the table. Glorfindel's usual smile had been replaced with a hard-set frown, a recent trend in their weekly gatherings in the Council room. He supposed the Seneschal of Imladris would have a heavy mind, considering all the skirmishes at the border and extra patrols as of late. For once, it seemed the smiley elf was taking things more seriously, not that it made him any less annoying. The Elda was much worse outside of their meetings, what with his endless cheer and unbearable chumminess on top of being a ruthless pursuer of conversation. Erestor depended on the Council as a temporary reprieve that kept Glorfindel’s eerily upbeat demeanor at bay. 

But it didn’t stop him from feeling strange. Indeed, Glorfindel proved himself to be an eloquent, and rather loud, adversary in their never-ending debates but Erestor had never felt intimidated.  No, what he felt was more akin to being strangled while falling — and he wasn't sure there was an emotion that covered those exact descriptors.  

Maybe it was an allergy, Erestor thought. But who had ever heard of being allergic to a person? 

Erestor’s gaze followed the hollow spine of his quill. So far, he had managed to keep such confusing emotions under control, a practice he had adopted through years and years of advisement. Very few emotions could dent the naturally stony expression he wore, and he intended to keep it that way. He was sure he could get through this meeting without any further discomfort. His eyes arrived at the end of the feather and was met with an azure stare. 

Those eyes, bright blue even in shadow, met his own, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. His stomach in knots, Erestor forced his eyes downward to stare at a fixed spot on the table. 

There was no other explanation. He had to be ill.

"Is there any other business, Councilor?"

Erestor pulled himself from his thoughts, Elrond's voice both a nuisance and welcome intrusion.  Focus. He lifted his head to find the Elf-lord's eyes fixed expectantly on him, and his mind scrambled to review the last snippets of conversation he only briefly tuned into. He managed a hasty response, "No, my Lord. I believe we have covered the roster for today."

Elrond nodded. "Very well. Then let us adjourn," he said, looking about at the faces of his table. "We shall reconvene next week at the usual time."

Erestor heaved a silent sigh of relief as he rose with the rest of the Council. Morning meetings were always tedious but he had never experienced such distended daydreaming in all his life. It was hardly befitting an elf in his position, he scolded himself. Obsessing over something that may not even exist! He felt like an elfling who hadn't reached his majority, which only made himself feel worse when he realized just how far past his majority he was. With an annoyed huff, he gathered the rolls of parchment in his arms. 

As he retrieved the last scroll, he felt someone approach him. He tensed, suddenly uneasy, but did not acknowledge the presence he knew stood beside him. 

"Erestor, may I speak with you for a moment?"

He didn't have to look to know who it was; his rapidly beating heart was enough of an indication. Erestor closed his eyes with a mental sigh and forced himself to meet that dreaded azure stare. His stomach protested with a fluttering fit in tandem with the erratic thrum in his ears. By now, he was sure that all his organs had rearranged themselves in order of greatest discomfort, and it took every bit of willpower not to excuse himself then. But before he knew it, he had opened his mouth.

"Of…" Erestor inwardly grimaced at the squeakiness of his voice, clearing his throat before continuing. "Of course, my Lord Glorfindel. What can I do for you?"

Glorfindel's smile seemed to widen slightly, if only for a moment. And it made Erestor's insides flip uncontrollably. "I was hoping to discuss my proposal with you."

Erestor furrowed his brow. "Oh… Your…" His mind leapt at the chance to focus on something else. He ignored his racing heartbeat and juggled the heaping pile of scrolls that he held precariously in his arms, attempting to retrieve the roster. "My apologies. I must have missed your name on today's…"

"No, no," Glorfindel said, reaching out a hand to stay the wobbling documents. "It is for next week." 

Erestor stiffened slightly and peered at his companion, curiosity and wariness battling each other underneath his calm facade. But Glorfindel did not seem to notice the Councilor’s trepidation, only smiling in that casual way he did. 

"Perhaps we can talk this evening," he said. "After dinner."

No. No, thank you, he thought as loudly as he could. Already, Erestor was beginning to feel dizzy and it took all of his self-control not to give into the feverish tremors that racked his body. A wave of nausea hit him and very nearly overwhelmed him. It took all of his self-control to keep himself from vomiting then and there. "I am afraid that I have a previous engagement," he answered, more icily than he intended.

Glorfindel nodded in understanding but did not miss a beat. "Tomorrow then?"

" _No,_ ” Erestor blurted, a little too quickly. "No, tomorrow is not a good time." 

The Elda hummed contemplatively. "Then what day is most suitable for you?" 

Erestor swallowed thickly. Glorfindel's request was nothing outrageous; It was not unusual for Councilor and Seneschal to discuss matters of business outside of official council… yet the very idea made him feel sick. Well, sicker. He had yet to figure out what he had contracted, and he had no intention of aggravating whatever it was that plagued him. He would have to do more research, first and foremost, lest his symptoms get the better of him. 

"This week is a busy one," he answered firmly. He made as if to leave but was stopped by Glorfindel's troubled expression. 

"I see," the other elf murmured thoughtfully, disappointment clearly written on his face.  Erestor wondered if Glorfindel could sense the guilt that had suddenly blossomed in his chest, and hoped that he kept at least a somewhat neutral expression. The blonde offered a small smile, as if to ease Erestor's conscience. "Well then, I suppose I will have to make due on my own." Glorfindel dipped his head, hand over his heart. "I am sorry to take up your time. You must be wanting to return to your work. _Aur vaer_ , Erestor."

Erestor watched his companion go as relief washed over him. The sight of Glorfindel's retreating back hardly diminished his rushing pulse but he felt he regained at least some control of himself, no matter how little it was. It would have been appropriate for him to walk away then, even without a proper good-bye, yet there he stood, shock-still, clumsily grasping his many bundles of paper. A growing sense of obligation quickly ebbed away at his reprieve, aided by the rather overwhelming sense that he was being utterly ridiculous.

Blast it. Blast it all. 

"Wait." 

Almost immediately, Glorfindel turned to face him. And very immediately, Erestor regretted opening his mouth.

“I have some time at the end of the week. Most likely Saturday. It will be late, however, so if it doesn’t suit your schedule—“ 

“No! That’s perfect,” the Seneschal said with a voice all too pleased. “I have the earlier patrol that day. We’ll have a late meal. Perhaps something light…”

Guilt gave way to annoyance as Erestor opened his mouth to protest. “Oh, that’s not―“

But Glorfindel was already walking away, still facing him while talking. “I’ll bring wine! I’ve got this fantastic bottle that I’ve been dying to try. Of course, I’ll have to see to it that it goes with the meal ― Wouldn’t want a red if we’re having fish.” As the Elda drew further away, his voice grew to accommodate. “I will sort out the menu with the kitchen later. Until then!”

And with that, the golden elf turned about and trotted off.  

Erestor stood there with a mouth half-open, looking quite like a gutted fish, as his eyes followed the bouncing head of golden hair out of the room. What on earth had just happened? He blinked once, then twice, completely dumbstruck at how quickly the conversation had flown over his head. A roll of parchment tumbled from his arms and landed at his feet with a sharp crinkle. He didn’t hear it, however, for his ears were filled with a distant ringing.

Sick. He was definitely sick. 

 

* * *

 

His finger ran along the stack of books, never pausing for more than a second as his eyes scanned title after title. 

 _The Mortal Illnesses: A Guide to Man’s Disease._ No.

 _Dwarves: A Study of Height and Health._ Hardly. 

 _Poisonous Fungi and their Effects on Elves._ Plausible.

When he reached the bottom, he sat back in his chair with a huff. He had been in the library for most of the afternoon and evening, some of which, he dedicated to finishing his reports and the majority to reading almost every illness book in Elrond’s library. He had considered going to the elf-lord himself but the thought of telling Elrond his symptoms felt… intrusive. He grimaced, hoisting himself from his seat for yet another trip to the shelves. No, better he research it himself first. Now, what was next? 

_Ancient Ailments Demystified: The Treatable and the Fatal._

His finger traced the worn spine as he reread the title again and again. Hesitantly, almost skeptically, he pulled it out from its dusty place and returned to his writing desk, placing it in the bright glow of the candlelight. It was a dingy specimen, whether that was from use or negligence he didn’t know, Its cover was of shabby quality, a faded red leather that hardly held the book closed, but the heavy pages had made sure the book stayed in one piece. He chewed the inside of his cheek, hesitant, as he sunk into his chair, cradling the ragged codex and making a note to repair the binding later.

‘Demystified,’ it said. After one last dubious look at the book cover, Erestor began flipping through its contents. It was a hefty collection of illnesses, old and new, and was, in a word, _dense_. Where does one begin to seek out a name for the disease?

“Symptoms,” he murmured quietly, moving page to page. 

_Most ailments can be diagnosed by their respective symptoms, though there may be similarities. Paralleling illnesses of varying degrees of fatality is not uncommon; therefore, a thorough investigation of symptoms is advised._

A comforting warning, he thought wryly, reading on. The first few pages contained the lengthiest disclaimers he had ever seen, describing the consequences of misdiagnoses of those who were less… fortunate. His eyes continued to scan the paragraphs, undeterred by the increasingly morbid content. 

 _Dizziness and lightheadedness are not generally serious symptoms but they may indicate an illness of a more serious nature. Combined with a rapid heartbeat and physical stress, dehydration often is the cause. While non-lethal, precautions must be taken if the patient exhibits these symptoms with a rapid rise and fall of body temperature. Feverishness and shivering, in their extremities, may lead to seizures or death_ ―

“Erestor?” 

The Councilor jolted upright, nearly throwing himself out of his own seat and knocking down the small tower of books he had accumulated. He shut the book and shoved it to the farthest corner of his desk before turning to find a very concerned Elrond staring at him.

“Oh, good afternoon, Lord Elrond,” he greeted, slightly out of breath. He attempted to busy himself with reading and organizing the various scraps of parchment strewn across his desk, only to realize that all of them were traitorously blank. 

Elrond merely folded his arms. “Afternoon? The sun has already set, Erestor.” 

Erestor opened his mouth to protest as Elrond crossed the room and opened the curtains, revealing a sky  of an early evening with no trace of sun. The stars were almost out. 

“Oh. I didn't realize the...” 

Elrond sighed as he moved back towards the desk. “You know I don't mind you using my library but I would prefer if you didn't choose to _live_ in here.” He gazed at the books Erestor had gathered with some interest before noting the mountainous piles on the floor. “Looking for something?”

Almost defensively, Erestor exclaimed, “No, nothing in particular. I was just brushing up on my...” His eyes locked on the nearest book cover. “Fungi.” 

A look of confusion crossed the other elf's face. “Fungi,” he said slowly.  

“Yes. Fungi,” Erestor repeated. When Elrond only continued to stare, he added half-heartedly, “They are very... interesting.” 

 “... Well,” Elrond said with some bemusement. “I'm glad you've found a new hobby but it's no excuse to hole up like a mole.” He began to organize the books in preparation for re-shelving and, after glancing at the sheer number of books Erestor had gone through, merely sighed in resignation. “Perhaps this is a job for another day.” 

Erestor lowered his head out of embarrassment. “My apologies, Lord Elrond.” 

Elrond hummed softly in response as he made for the door, shaking the dust from his sleeves as he went. “It's late, Erestor. Why don't you return to your room for some supper?” And without missing a beat, he shot a knowing glance over his shoulder. “I know you haven't eaten so don't even start.” His robes made a soft swishing noise, almost as if in a huff, as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Erestor alone in the silence of the library. 

It was indeed very late, he thought. He rested his cheek against one hand while the other fiddled with the pages of an open book. His eyes moved over to the text he had promptly discarded. 

Could it really be something so serious? Surely his symptoms would not lead to...

He considered reading a little while longer but ultimately decided against it. The book's... thorough preview was enough for him. And it wasn't worth risking the lecture his mentor so readily prepared every time he neglected his meals. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded the scolding if only it didn't come in the form of a shrill earthquake. 

As if on cue, the door creaked of his impending doom. Erestor stood up immediately to grab his quills and papers, hastily blowing out the candle and walking, very briskly, out the door.

 

* * *

_Wednesday._

 

The next morning, there was no work. 

It was not too often that the Councilor found himself with nothing to do and it was so very _wrong._ But Elrond merely said, “You've drafted everything for the next half century. I hardly feel like I'm doing anything at all!”

Despite Erestor's attempts to make himself useful, Elrond dismissed him with a practiced ease and more or less forced him out of the study. His first reaction was to go back to the library to continue the previous night's research but Elrond would have none of that and suggested, _very aggressively,_ that Erestor take his breakfast outside. While he wasn't all too happy about his sudden eradication, it was, admittedly, a rather nice day to spend under the alcove in the garden with a cup of tea. The open courtyard allowed for a small breeze to grace the pavilion, filling the entire area with the smell of fresh water and pine from the mountains. The sky was clear, save for the looming rainclouds that begun to gather in the distance.

Erestor ran the feathered end of his quill along his cheek in thought, staring at the small notebook he cradled in his lap. He wasn't used to lounging about in the mornings, or lounging at all, and found himself at quite a loss on how to enjoy his unexpected time off. He regarded writing as one of his great hobbies, next to reading, but he so rarely wrote for pleasure. And of course, now that he wished to, nothing came to mind.

Uninspired, he put down his quill in exchange for his tea cup and gazed at the plants with a concerned sort of look. During the springtime, it was a sight to behold but now that it was summer, the once-perfect garden had been overtaken by ugly black mushrooms, which had chosen the precarious position of growing next to the more impressive daffodils. They were all hideously wrinkled with caps that seemed to shrivel inward as if the mushrooms themselves knew how awful they looked and were trying their best to disappear. But still they grew, leaning against the daffodil roots under the shade of golden petals. Perhaps they couldn't help themselves, he thought with some sympathy.

“What a surprise!”

Erestor jumped in his seat at the loud – no, _explosive –_ greeting, his tea tipping over the cup's edge and onto his lap. His notebook and robes now thoroughly soaked, he prepared his most acidic glare for the soon-to-be-dead _whoever_ that decided shouting was an appropriate 'hello.'

“Do you _mind —_ ” Whatever insults he had for his intrusive guest flew from his mind upon seeing a head of golden hair and a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him.

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor choked out with some effort.

“I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” The Elda offered an apologetic smile, one that made Erestor feel as if he was just set on fire and promptly doused with cold water. He only managed a grimace in response and idly wondered how quickly he could pitch himself off the nearest cliff. “I was just surprised to see you here. You're usually in your study.”

“Yes, well...” He averted his gaze, staring at the tea-stained pages of his soggy notebook. Great. Now he would have to get another one to not write in. “Lord Elrond had no work for me.”

“Kicked you out, did he?” The sour look on Erestor's face was a clear enough bullseye. Glorfindel didn't bother hiding his amusement, chuckling softly. “It's a shame. If I had known, I would've schedule to meet you today.”

Erestor's breath hitched quietly, his entire body tense. Nausea made quick work of him and he knew it. A knot formed in the pits of his stomach and seemed to pull in everything else with it, winding tighter and tighter until he felt he might implode.

“But I think it would be unfair of me to take away from your day off,” Glorfindel amended.

Erestor released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and tried his best to look neutral despite the relief that showed in the relaxed slump of his shoulders.

“Plus, I do have the new recruits to train.” Glorfindel gestured to the small group of elves that had gathered at the edge of the courtyard. Erestor looked on at the hodgepodge mob and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Elfings, the lot of them. They all looked barely past their majority.

“... I see,” was all he could manage.

“Training the new ones is a rather loud venture. I just thought I should let you know that we may make a fair bit of noise,” the Seneschal explained.

“I think you've demonstrated that quite clearly,” Erestor ground out as he plopped his damp notebook on the table. Now please go, he pleaded silently. 

The obvious bite behind his words didn't seem to bother Glorfindel, who only laughed. “Again, my apologies.”

Ignoring the tail-ends of the nausea that remained, Erestor poured himself another cup of tea but decided against drinking it until the other elf was _far_ on the other side.

“I suppose I can't object to you fulfilling your duties.” Regrettably.

“We'll try not to disturb the rest of your morning,” Glorfindel said with a smile. As walked towards his trainees, he gave a small wave and added, “You're more than welcome to join us!”

Erestor huffed in response, eliciting another bout of laughter from the retreating elf, and shot annoyed glances at the many eyes staring at him from afar, all of which miraculously looked in a dozen different directions upon impact. He closed his eyes, satisfied, and returned to sipping his tea, listening to the faint clinking of novice swords. What a ridiculous notion.

“Isn't that sweet?”

For the second time that day, Erestor spilled his tea. And this time, it came with the added pleasure of choking on it mid-sip. Whatever attempts he made to look decent were promptly destroyed by a bout of violent coughs and gagging noises. Wishing death upon the new nuisance, Erestor turned with his tea cup readied for projectile launching.

“ _Gildor, you –”_

“Oh, don't look so unhappy, _gwador._ It'll pucker your look.” The brunette plopped himself on the armrest of Erestor's chair, leaning heavily on the disgruntled Councilor as he reached for an uneaten plate of biscuits.

Having no privacy was already enough of a reason to stay inside. And now Gildor. He was the only one who could turn Erestor into a permanent hermit.

“I was so sure you would catch fire if you went under the sun,” Gildor commented between bites.

Erestor suspected that Gildor would react the same way to a book. He was surprised the elf was even up at this time, and already so chatty. Gildor's smug grin drew out a sneer on his part. If only there were no witnesses, this would be so easy. “I happen to have the morning off.”

“And you chose to spend it here.” Gildor licked his fingers, hunger now sated, and brushed the stray crumbs from his lap. “I take it you like the view.”

“The garden is nice,” Erestor said with resignation. With a sigh, he looked forlornly at the teapot, wishing dearly that it was filled with something stronger. He supposed he would have to accept that he would never have an idiot-free morning.

“ _Only_ the garden?”

The sing-song question caused his annoyance to descend into suspicion as he turned to the brunette, curious. “What are you talking about?”

Gildor said nothing, only grinning that impish way he did as his eyes traveled across the yard to where the recruits now trained. Erestor followed his gaze with dubiety clearly etched in his furrowed brow. And the sight was another kick to the gut and then some.

As the morning fell to the afternoon, the courtyard grew hot under the high sun, insulated by the heavy curtain of humidity that settled over the entire valley. To train in such conditions was not unusual for those in the guard. Therefore, it should not have shocked Erestor to find them all stripping themselves of their tunics to find some relief from the heat. But shocked he was, utterly struck by the golden torso of the elf he so loathed as blood rushed, heart thumped, and stomach flipped. It took all of his might to rip his gaze away but the image had utterly throttled him and burned itself into his brain.

“It must be a pain to have to train all those little ones,” Gildor chimed in offhandedly, casting the Councilor a lazy glance with entirely too much glee. “I certainly couldn't. Not at this hour.”

You can hardly take a piss without whinging about it, Erestor thought bitterly as he fought the heady dizziness that overtook him. He felt like a ragdoll being tossed about, his stomach falling and floating all at the same time. The illness found a chink in his armor and wasted no time reducing him to a quivering mess. If it wasn't bad before, it was so much worse now, and showed no signs of subsiding. He shot up from his seat, arms braced stiffly at his side.

“ _I'm leaving._ ”

Gildor let out a confused grunt as he slid from the armrest into the now empty chair. Whatever snide remarks he had prepared, Erestor didn't give him the chance, stalking away in a torrent of billowing robes and leaving the wanderer to his own. Gildor followed the surly elf's prompt retreat into the safety of the house, first puzzled then pleased, and poured himself a cold cup of tea. As he downed his drink, he had the uncanny feeling that he himself was being watched. And with immense disdain. Grin in place, he raised the empty cup in salute and met the icy azure glare from afar with a wink.

 

* * *

 

Erestor continued his mad dash down the hall, eyes fixed on the marble tiles beneath his feet as he pushed past the curious stares of passersby. The only thing he could focus on was getting away, away from Seneschals and the Gildors of the world, and with every unsteady step, he felt himself being pulled back to that sunny courtyard. He frantically turned corner after corner, nearly barreling into the innocent bystanders in his wake, until he finally found himself in front of his own room. Concerned murmurs from other elves broke through the faint buzzing that filled his ears but he ignored them, pushing open the doors and slamming them shut behind him.

He made a beeline for the bathroom sink, turning on the faucet and splashing his face repeatedly with cold water. The chilling sting wasn't enough to reduce the heat in his cheeks but he kept on until the entire front of his robes were thoroughly soaked, along with the mirror Weary, he leaned against the basin with his hands gripping the edge, panting quietly as water droplets fell from his drenched locks and onto the floor.

It wasn't going away.

His numbed fingertips felt nothing as they pushed back the stray strands of hair that stuck to his neck, and he marveled at what he could only describe as the most pathetic thing he had ever seen. There he stood, like a drowned cat from the enormous deluge he had subjected himself to, with a face red enough to make beets jealous.

Enough was enough. Erestor shut off the tap with a frustrated grunt and turned his back to the mirror, arms folded tightly across his chest.

He would have to go see Elrond. As much as he didn't like it, there was no time for more research, not when it was progressing this fast. With his dinner with Glorfindel being only 3 days away, he had no choice.

His foot tapped nervously, his robes squishing loudly as if in protest.

He was very lucky to be in Imladris, he told himself. Elrond was not only an amiable lord but a renown healer as well. It was no secret that Erestor respected him deeply. He would go as far as to say that he trusted Elrond more than any other elf. The Peredhal would know better than anyone what Erestor's ailment was and probably be able to offer a treatment. Maybe even a cure...

Erestor gritted his teeth.

Then why was he so worried?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concerning the faucets, I'm sure the Imladris elves would have had some sort of water irrigation system in place, considering they've got rivers running through there. And if the Romans/Greeks did it, I can't see why elves wouldn't be able to.


	2. In the Absence of Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor becomes more confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to update. But here's that next chapter for you guys.
> 
> And thanks for all the kudos and kind comments!

_Thursday._

 

"I think I'm dying." 

Elrond paused mid-sip, his lips barely grazing the edge of his hot tea. He slowly lowered his cup to his saucer with a soft clink, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he turned to gaze at the Councilor, seemingly busy with his writing.  "I beg your pardon?" 

Erestor, who had only stopped to dip his quill with fresh ink, now continued his drafting of the document, seemingly unaware of what he had just said. He didn't look up from the parchment as he scribbled a clause before repeating, "I said, I think I'm dying." 

Elrond tilted his head to one side as he set down his cup. "No, I heard you… I'm just not sure if  _you_ did." When Erestor didn't respond, the Elf-lord probed, "What in Eru possessed you to say such a thing?"

_Who_ , was more like it. Erestor tried not to squirm under Elrond's prying eyes, which had settled into a fixed stare that filled up the entirety of his peripheral vision. A silence fell between them, disrupted only by the occasional scratch of writing. His mind whirred with all his thoughts, his worries, and his fears but nothing short of a jumbled sputter came out of his mouth. 

“Erestor,” Elrond prodded encouragingly, hands folded neatly in his lap, and managed to coax out the words, albeit with great resistance on Erestor's part.

“Do you think it's possible,” Erestor began haltingly, “that being...  _around_ someone can make you sick?”

Elrond didn't answer right away, instead returning to his drink, which he swirled absentmindedly in the cup. “That depends,” he finally said. “Is this someone already ill?”

“No, he's fine,” Erestor answered immediately. At least, Glorfindel seemed fine if yesterday was anything to go by.

“He?” Elrond paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully at his cooling tea. “I think it may be helpful if I knew who you were referring to.” 

Damn it. 

“... Why does that matter?” was all Erestor could muster as a defense.

To this, Elrond merely shrugged. “It doesn't really. But if this  _someone_  is the problem, I'd like to know who it is.” He raised his cup to his lips and took a nice long sip, his eyebrows lifting nonchalantly. 

Erestor shifted nervously in his seat. He knew it would be difficult to broach such an embarrassing topic but it never occurred to him that he would actually have to reveal such specifics, even if it was just a name. In the span of one agonizing minute, this whole idea seemed more and more like a dangerous prospect but if it was, Elrond's calm demeanor betrayed no information. The Elf-lord continued to enjoy his beverage without paying much attention to the twisted expression on Erestor's face, which now looked like it had just encountered a horrific smell.

“It's...” Erestor relented. “... It's Lord Glorfindel.”

“... Glorfindel,” Elrond repeated, as he was wont to do with Erestor as of late. “You think Glorfindel is making you sick?”

“Well, yes!” Erestor blurted in exasperation. “And... and no. Maybe. It comes and goes.” He grasped the front fabric of his robes and began ruthlessly bunching it together and pulling them apart. “I only ever feel ill whenever he's around. But when I'm alone, I feel normal.” With a sigh, he sunk into his chair, his hands still working the wrinkles into his clothes. “Is it an allergy?” he murmured quietly. 

Elrond closed his eyes to stave off the laughter bubbling up in his chest but the more the words rolled over in his mind, the more clearly he saw. Suddenly, the Noldo's unusually skittish behavior made sense. The fleeting realization that only just crossed Elrond's neutral features before he opened his mouth to ask, “Have you been feeling light-headed recently? Even dizzy?”

“Yes.” Erestor straightened, leaning forward eagerly. “How did you know?”

“Nausea? Sudden fatigue?”

“Yes, every time.”

“Rapid heartbeat? Shortness of breath?”

“Yes! That's exactly it —”

“And only around Glorfindel.” 

“ _Yes!_ ” 

A smile broke Elrond's interrogative streak as he sat back, his hands relaxing in his lap. “It's nothing to concern yourself with, Erestor. You're perfectly healthy.”

Erestor gaped. “ _What?_ ” 

“It happens to all of us at one time or another. If you leave it as is, it may fade away on its own.” Whatever relief Erestor felt at that was quashed by Elrond's addendum. “But I've known that there are instances where it lasts a lifetime.”

_L... Lifetime?_  Erestor sat back, stunned by the horror of such a concept. A man with his short life could not bear such a weight— What hope could he have in the wake of his immortality? “That can't be,” he protested adamantly. “Surely there is something that can be done!”

“That will be entirely up to you,” Elrond answered with too much calm for Erestor's liking. “This isn't some terminal affliction, Erestor. You can control it as long as you accept it for what it is, for better or for worse. But denying its existence will only complicate things. Do you understand?”

_No,_ Erestor thought loudly. He stared at his lord visibly dismayed. Even his lord, the renown healer, had no cure to offer, only a cryptic diagnosis with an even more mysterious implication. Sensing Erestor's trepidation, Elrond placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You are one of the brightest elves I've ever met. I know you will try to think of an answer before you act. But believe me when I say there is no right answer.” Elrond gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Perhaps it is time to stop thinking.”

Disappointment and confusion swirled wildly in his chest as the fleeting lines of their conversation bumped around in his head. He came to Elrond seeking clarification and instead, received a wholly baffling platter of incomprehensible nonsense. Nothing that was said helped him in the slightest; if anything, he was worse off now having gotten a thorough mental scrambling. Even his senses seemed to go on strike for he didn't notice the knock at the door.

“A moment,” Elrond called out. He stood from his seat, briefly stopping to brush the wrinkles from his robes, and gave Erestor one last pat on the shoulder before answering the door. A loud creak wrenched him from his hazy thoughts and he turned to gaze across the room at what could only be described as his bane.

The Seneschal stood in the doorway covered head to toe in rain and mud, most of which had made it onto the floor as a murky puddle around his feet. He seemed unbothered by it, save for the heaviness of his wet hair that clung to his dirty armor and wore his usual smile though with a bit more fatigue. 

“Oh, Lord Glorfindel,” Elrond greeted casually. “You’re back early.”

“I'm sorry to disturb you, my lord, but I must speak with you.”

“Of course,” Elrond said, stepping aside to allow the other elf to pass. Glorfindel, however, remained exactly where he was, having trailed quite enough mud inside as it was. And Erestor was more than happy to maintain their current distance.

“This won’t take long.” 

Still, the sight of Glorfindel brought out the flight in his fight-or-flight instincts, and he quickly whipped about, his legs retracting into his chest as if the floor had become hot lava. Upon realizing that his only exit resulted in having to interact with the  _problem,_ he thought he would try his hand at turning invisible. The universe, of course, refused to oblige. If anything, the movement attracted the attention of the very elf he wished to avoid. 

“Oh.  _Aduial vaer,_  Erestor,” Glorfindel said, his voice brightening immeasurably. “I didn’t see you there.” When Erestor only offered something between a squawk and a grunt, he gave Elrond a quizzical look, both amused and concerned. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you while you were working.” 

Elrond merely smiled. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.” 

“Oh, good. Well, actually I was hoping to speak to both of you.”

Erestor didn’t give up on his goal to disappear, even screwing his eyes shut in hopes of helping the magic along. Seconds passed without signs of any concealment whatsoever, and he began to realize how ridiculous he probably looked. Eventually, protocol and just plain propriety forced Erestor onto his feet, which carried him stiffly towards the door. 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at Erestor’s faltering steps. “Are you well, Erestor? You’re awfully red.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Erestor managed to say, voice cracking. 

“You’re sure?” When Glorfindel leaned in, Erestor leaned away as far as his body would allow without tipping over.   

“ _Yes, fine,_ ” Erestor repeated.

He couldn’t tell if Glorfindel was satisfied with his answer for the Elda gave him one last scrutinizing once-over before moving on. 

“I’m afraid that Yaviendil has injured himself. Took a rather bad fall on the slopes. I don't think he'll be able to ride for a week or so. I’ll have to take his patrol at week's end and most likely most of next week.”

“I see. Are you short-handed?” Elrond inquired.

“It would seem so,” Glorfindel conceded. “I’m still training the new recruits. And with this rain, I don’t want to risk them being injured as well.” 

Elrond hummed in agreement. “It can’t be helped. I’ll take a look at his leg tonight and we’ll see how long it will be before he can ride.” 

“Thank you, my Lord. I will let the others know they may be taking double shifts.” Glorfindel turned to Erestor with an apologetic smile. “I hate to do this to you, Erestor, but it seems we cannot meet as we originally planned. So…” 

Uneasiness drew Erestor as taut as a bow as he braced himself. For what? He didn’t know until—

“I know this is sudden but can we meet tomorrow?”

It hit him. Hard. 

“T… T… T… T-Tomorrow?” he asked, barely above a sputtered whisper. Glorfindel tried to coax the words out of Erestor with his attentive gaze but it did just the opposite. “B-B… But I-I— T-Tomorrow—”

“I think that’s doable,” Elrond interjected with a nod. Erestor threw Elrond a wide-eyed look of pure panic, hoping that was a clear enough indication of how extremely against it he was but the Elf-Lord proceeded without even throwing a glance his way. “Erestor managed to finish most of his work earlier this week. We’re only drafting a few documents now but those won’t be needed until the end of the month.” 

“I-I don’t think—”

Glorfindel furrowed his brow, skeptical. “You’re sure? I understand if you both have prior obligations—”

“This is a business dinner, isn’t it? I don’t like him working himself too hard but I’m sure it will be good for him. I can never get him to eat otherwise. And if it’s a scheduled meeting, I know he’ll keep it,” Elrond said amiably. Erestor nearly jumped when Elrond patted him on the shoulder, as if that was enough to make everything somehow less terrible.

“Erestor, you have no objections?” 

“I…” With both elves’ eyes fixated on him, Erestor suddenly felt akin to a bug caught between the folds of a curtain. He anxiously flitted between Glorfindel’s mindful anticipation and Elrond’s undisguised enthusiasm with a reproachful caution. 

Attempting to escape was to defy two forces of nature, especially when it came to Elrond. His feelings shouldn’t matter, he told himself. Aside from the fact that he  _really didn’t want to do this,_ it was business. His duties as Councilor took priority over whatever personal matters he had, even if it should involve the center of all his problems against the backdrop of a one-on-one evening. 

“… I… s-suppose… not…” he conceded as quietly as he could manage, hoping that neither elf could hear him.

“Oh! I’m glad to hear it,” Glorfindel beamed.

Elrond hummed softly, giving Erestor a secretive smile of rapport. “I’ll see to our injured soldier then.”

“I’ll take you to him,” Glorfindel offered. As Elrond started down the hall, the Seneschal trailed a few steps behind. “Thank you for understanding, Erestor. Until tomorrow night.” He turned away with a soft swish of golden hair, subsumed by the deeper footsteps and sharp clink of armor. They left Erestor alone in the hallway with only the muddy puddles as his companions. His feelings shouldn’t matter, he reminded himself. 

But they did matter. They mattered so much. 

 

* * *

  

_Friday._

 

“Well, you look like shit.”

Erestor didn't look up, not that he could find the strength to. It was only noon and he could hardly keep his head up, even when it was propped up by his hand. He could say with certainty that last night had been the worst sleep imaginable, so terrible he had chosen to remain in his quarters to brood. It was aggravated by the fact that most of his tossing and turning had been fueled by his own paranoia with every scenario he imagined ending in complete disaster. The whole miserable experience left him reeling. He had hoped that sitting on the balcony— you know, fresh air and all— would alleviate the migraine hammering away at his temples but alas, his new companion had managed beat that remedy into an early grave. He sunk further into his chair, hoping it would stave off the intrusion. “Did you need something, Gildor?”

“No. I just wanted to tell you how horrendous you look today.” Gildor hopped up on the flat banister, parking himself squarely in Erestor's sight. That earned the brunette a bleary-eyed glare of the face-melting variety. Much to Erestor's discontent, Gildor's face failed to comply. Idiocy provided such a thick barrier.

“And you have,” Erestor muttered without enthusiasm. “Now go away.”

The brunette practically squealed in delight then replied, “I see the stick in your ass hasn't budged.” He kicked his feet playfully in front of him, lightly brushing the edge of Erestor's robes and driving the Councilor to insanity. “You really should have that looked at.”

“Oh, would you stop that?!” Erestor sat up with a huff, hoisting himself out of range.

“So I hear you and our dear Seneschal are going to have dinner.”

He felt his face grow sour, or rather more sour, upon seeing the ever-widening smirk on Gildor's idiotic mug. The other elf had stopped his incessant leg-swinging, for which Erestor was grateful, but had now opted for an uncomfortably long gaze. One that was filled with too much smug for his liking. “How... Who told you that?”

“When you have dinner with the great Lord Glorfindel, everybody knows,” Gildor said, hazel eyes glinting mischievously. He crossed his legs with a flourish. “I had no idea you were interested.”

What? Erestor squinted suspiciously at his annoying counterpart. Interested? Interested in what?

“I mean, I certainly can't blame you. Goldie does have his charm.”

“What are you on about?” Erestor didn’t like the gleam in Gildor’s eyes — that sort of prying, weaseling look that never meant anything good for anyone. Except Gildor.

“Why now? What spurred on this decision to meet so privately?”

“That’s hardly any of your business!” Erestor said with exasperation.

“It is when the household prude drinks the golden wine,” Gildor contended wryly. Erestor continued to observe him with increasing suspicion, unmoved by the brunette’s toothy smile. He shifted uncomfortably under Gildor’s gaze, almost predatory in their seeking, until finally Gildor sat up, disbelief scrawled clearly across his face. “You’re joking.” When Erestor only deepened his frown, Gildor sighed with feigned concern, hand on his chest. “Oh, that’s adorable. You’re a moron.”

This again. “ _Gildor_   _—”_

Gildor shushed him, hopping off the banister with a sprightly step and circling around his grumpier companion in a twirl. “Well, since you clearly have  _no_ idea what you’re doing—” He plopped his arms atop Erestor’s head, resting his chin on his hands. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Erestor bit back, tilting his head in an attempt to get away. And any 'help' that came from Gildor was likely to double his chances of disaster.

“Oh,  _gwador_ , but you do,” Gildor assured, rapping the other elf lightly on the head.

Erestor didn't respond, too busy wishing that his annoying parasite of a companion would leave him alone to mentally prepare for the evening that was fast approaching. He mercilessly chewed his nails, a habit he used to have tamed but had since resurfaced in recent weeks. Erestor chided himself, ripping his hands away from his restless teeth and hiding them in his sleeves. He reflected briefly on how he would spend the rest of the day sulking before he heard a loud  _thump_  behind him.

Erestor turned to find Gildor rummaging through his closet, tossing out every scrap of clothing he owned onto his bed and the floor at great speed and, it seemed, with great disgust.

“ _What do you think you're doing?”_ Erestor leapt to his feet and rushed to save his poor robes from being so unceremoniously thrown on the floor.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Gildor shouted back as he tossed another set of black clothing onto the floor. He pulled a few more robes off the rack and upon observing that they were all, shockingly, black, allowed them to join the rest of their discarded siblings. Erestor attempted to spare them of their wrinkly fate but found himself no match for his greatest nuisance. Despite the heated glare thrown his way, Gildor paid Erestor no mind, pausing only to give the disgruntled elf a once-over. “Please tell me you’re not going in that old thing.”

“ _Old_ _—"_ Erestor scrambled to his feet, juggling what he assumed was his entire closet. “These are  _new!_ ”

“You’re a walking tragedy, dear Erestor— Sweet  _Eru_ , do you have anything that isn’t black?”

His pile now at his highest, Erestor dumped them onto his bed, making a mental note to sort them out later. “ _No,_ so you can stop look—”

“ _Ah!_ ” Gildor emerged from his raid victorious, treating the newfound garment with more care than he did the others. Erestor thought his eyes were going to burst from their sockets they were so large. “Fuck me, this is Lórien silk!” Gildor exclaimed.

It was an unusual color for such formal wear, not one that Erestor saw as a popular choice for even the boldest of elves. It shocked him further to learn that this had been in his closet,  _his_ closet, for all of a century without his knowledge, collecting dust.

“It's pink.”

But 'pink' did not describe it in the slightest. In the changing light, Erestor couldn't tell its true color for it vibrated between hues of red and violet, neither crimson nor magenta and yet all of them at once. The dark trim changed along with its oscillating background, shifting from deep blues to purples.

“Poor thing! Stuffed in the back of that black-ridden closet for who knows how long,” Gildor huffed, raising it up for a better look. “What a gem!”

Erestor never had an eye for fashion but even he knew that this cut of cloth was beautiful.

And horrifically flashy.

“I'm not wearing that,” he said.

Gildor practically short-circuited. “But just look at it!” He held it up as if Erestor couldn't see it properly the first time.

“It's fine,” Erestor conceded without much enthusiasm. “But I'm still not wearing it. Besides, I don't think it's even mine. I've never seen it before.”

“Oh, for Eru's sake, who  _cares?_  And it was in your room anyway! What's the harm?” Gildor pressed it against Erestor's form, leaning back to better vizualize until Erestor shied away from the splendid garb.

“But... it's so... bright and... noticeable—”

Erestor's weak protest earned him a half-lidded stare. “Is that all? Don't be absurd—  _You're meant to be seen._ And you're having dinner, not attending a funeral.”

Erestor sneered. He begged to differ.

Gildor held up the robes again, slapping away any attempts to return the garment to its dusty prison until Erestor finally relented and let Gildor do as he pleased. Even if he felt utterly stupid. After some quiet tutting and enigmatic hums, it looked as though he would be released from Gildor's silly dress-up game until Gildor shoved him into the washroom, Erestor's new evening wear in tow, with a stern, “On. Now.” And Erestor knew better than to argue. Of course, a door blocked by Gildor provided a good incentive. 

Hesitantly, he slipped out of his usual attire in exchange for its more colorful substitute, taking in the painstaking detail that adorned the sleeves and collar. It really was wonderfully made but far too garish for his taste. It required an elf with charm and wit, who commanded attention through presence. Someone like Elrond or even Gildor, the bastard.

But Erestor was no such elf.

“You’d better have it on already or I swear, I’ll come in there.”

With great care and haste, Erestor rushed to dress before Gildor made good on his threat and emerged irritated. “Must you be so pushy—”

Gildor pulled him to a chair that sat in front of a large mirror, one that Erestor wasn't keen on looking into at the moment. Though he resisted, Gildor managed to hustle him into his seat without much trouble. Hand gripped his head and moved it side to side until Erestor found himself looking straight at his reflection, a grimace plain on his face. As he gazed at his newly dressed self, he couldn't help but deepen his frown. As he thought. It didn’t suit him at all.

Without warning, he felt a tug on his head.

“What now?”

“Stop whinging,” Gildor chided, running a comb through Erestor's hair. “We still have to braid it.”

Seeing himself dressed so lavishly made him uncomfortable somehow and it didn't help now that Gildor saw fit to rage war on his head. Erestor winced at a particularly harsh drag of the comb, which was accompanied by a rather strong smelling oil. Sage and rosewood filled the room as Gildor pulled his long bangs back to braid. They fought him with every run of the brush until he finally tamed them into neat plaits that ran on either side of Erestor's head, a style that Erestor felt took too much time for something so miniscule.

“... I feel ridiculous.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Gildor continued his mundane brushing in silence, a luxury Erestor so rarely enjoyed. But this blue-moon occurrence brought him no peace of mind, not when he felt like the world was about to end in a matter of a few hours. He pondered over the events of the day before and wondered why the Peredhal chose not only to throw him to the wolves but to also provide no help to discover any answers for himself. For the majority of last night, Erestor had mentally dissected Elrond's words again and again to no avail. Just a sleepless night to precede a sleepless day.

The incessant jerking of his head finally ceased, resulting in a Gildor who looked horrendously pleased and Erestor utterly floored.

His hair, usually hung heavy alongside his head, had been swept back completely, revealing the whole of a face he hardly recognized as his own. His entire reflection seemed a stranger, one that Erestor wasn't sure was him until he moved, and even then, he wasn't wholly convinced. 

“Good God...” Erestor turned his face to one side then the other. “What did you do to me?”

“I worked with what I had.” Gildor laughed, tossing the comb aside in triumphant satisfaction, and plopped himself on the nearby bed. “You go looking like that and Glorfindel will fall for you like a newborn Oliphaunt.”

Fall... Fall for... Erestor slowly drew himself away from his curious image to gaze at Gildor.

Gildor let out an exhausted grunt as he stretched on the bed. “I have to say, if it wasn't for the fact that my competition was old Goldie, I would have you for myself.”

“What did you say?”

“Of course, I never would. That's just rude.”

Erestor could only stare wordlessly and Gildor stared back, brows furrowed at his companion's change in demeanor. A few moments passed before realization dawned on him.

“Now I know you're joking. Didn't you know? He's courting you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bomb drop courtesy of Gildor.


End file.
